Of Cards and Unfeeling
by CompletelyDone
Summary: Rose Weasley doesn't scream, cry, or demand things. She refuses to feel. And I am at a complete loss as to how I am able to feel something for a practical sociopath. Valentine's Day One-Shot.


**Hello, all! I realize that it's been a copious amount of time since I last published a story. During my hiatus, I concocted several story outlines, but have yet to bring any of them to completion. So this is the debut of what is hopefully a productive writing year.**

**As always, I hope that you enjoy this. Let me know what you think. I, like all other FanFiction writers, love feedback in the form of favorites and reviews.**

* * *

Now that I think about it, it was a miserable idea to sit next to Rose Weasley this morning.

Well then why would I, you ask? Well, the short answer is that I like her company. An even shorter answer is that I like her. Three little words. None of it sounds that complicated. But it is.

Before you go ahead and assume that the only complication with my feelings for Weasley are based purely upon the rivalry that our families have, well, stop assuming. The issue is that she's impossible to like. Even more impossible to fancy. I don't say that lightly. I've been with girls who are simply horrid; in fifth year, my Boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts turned into Maggie Tarr and started screaming at me. That relationship ended rather quickly.

No, Rose Weasley doesn't scream, cry, or demand things. She refuses to feel. I can't even count on both hands the number of times I've seen her leave the dinner table when one of her cousins are crying or expressing their deep, unwavering joy. I have yet to see her act on impulse or hear her willingly express her feelings. And worst of all, she never smiles; on the rare occasion that her eyes are full of fiery passion, her face remains completely sober.

In short, Rose is incredibly impervious.

I am at a complete loss as to how I am able to feel something for a practical sociopath, but I recently decided that I'm done questioning it. It's been almost a year, I'm going to be out of Hogwarts in four months, and Rose still has no idea that I fancy her. Well, if she does, she doesn't seem to care; but in the interest of having hope, I refuse to believe that that's the case.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Rose!" Lily Potter flounces over to her cousin, breaking me out of my depressing trance. Merlin bless you, Lily.

Rose barely bats an eyelash; she reaches for another piece of toast and coats it in strawberry jam.

"What's this Rose?" Lily ruffles her hand through the side of Rose's blazing mane. "Aren't you excited to get letters from your secret admirers?"

Rose snorts at this as she sloppily drops the jam spreader back where it belongs. I can feel a smile working itself onto my face, but I hold it down for appearance's sake. The notion of Rose having a secret admirer- let alone more than one- is not unheard of; I am living proof of that. But the idea that any of the aforementioned suitors will profess their undying love to her is undoubtedly comical. Knowing Rose, she'd probably stare blankly at them, take their chocolates, and head in the opposite direction without pause. Such phenomena are the basis of my personal hesitation.

"Well some things never change," Lily remarks with exasperation before turning my way. "How about you, Scorpius? Have anything planned for today?" she asks. Her eyebrows are raised dangerously close to her perfectly-cut bangs and she can't quite keep herself from letting a trade-mark smirk grace her features.

Let me tell you something about Lily Potter: the girl knows _everything_. In particular, she knows everything that is meant to be secret for a reason. Alexis Statz and Frank Longbottom have been getting off with each other every Thursday? She saw. Cormac McLaggen sent a strongly-worded letter to Madame Hooch regarding his son's Quiddich playing? She read the letter. I may have feelings for Rose? She won't let me live it down.

And let me be the first to tell you that it makes me feel like a sad sack.

"I'm not sure yet," I tell her quite honestly, hoping that she understands to shove it before I pour my tea down her jumper.

Before her cousin can respond, Rose interjects, "There's nothing wrong with being single on Valentine's Day, so bugger off, Lily." She takes one more too-large bite of toast before excusing herself from the table. I try not to make it too painfully obvious that I'm watching her skirt swing back and forth as she exits the Great Hall.

"She may not have a problem with it, but you do."

There it is. The all-knowing voice of Lily Potter, rattling the cage that is my brain and making me feel like an incompetent failure. Worse than her knowing that I have feelings for Rose is that she knows _when _and _how_ I feel for her.

"You know," she leans back slightly, finger twirling around a strand of Weasley-patented hair, "I heard through the jungle telegraph that Bobby Nelson is planning something for your- sorry, _our_\- dearest Rose."

Bullocks. If I had been hesitant about confronting Rose before, it was nothing in comparison to the uncertainty instilled in me by that simple name.

Bobby Nelson. Seventh-year Hufflepuff. Quiddich captain. Future Auror. Head boy. In competition, the mention of his name alone has been known to scare off all offending players. Not that I blame them. Bobby may always win by default, but nobody wants to be the sorry blighter to call into question his brilliance.

"So?" I stuff a forkful of mash into my mouth, purposefully preventing myself from wailing aloud in grief.

Pounding perfectly-manicured hands onto the tabletop and baring gritted teeth, Lily narrows her eyes at me. "Really, Scorpius? I've only watched you pine after Rose for ten months, and all you can say when bleeding Bobby Nelson butts in is 'so?'"

I shrug and continue to shovel mash with my utensil. At the rate I'm eating, I'll be able to skip lunch in favor of a good cry around an empty classroom. Which is far more preferable than letting Lily get her hands on my misery.

"So." Lily stares at me, mouth set in a thin line. When I turn my attention to the Daily Prophet on the table beside me, she huffs in annoyance and tugs at her already-neat collar. "Fine. You sit back and do nothing."

"That's the plan," I state uninterestedly, knowing full-well that there is a 'but' coming on. From experience, I recognize Lily's 'buts' as ranging from a _Bombarda_ to a _Bombarda Maxima_ blow to the gut, so I quickly turn my attention to a photo of Pygmy Puffs to soften the strike.

"But just remember, this will be the day that you will always remember as the day you _almost_ got Rose. Maybe you'll recall and forever regret this moment when she becomes Rose-bloody-Nelson with three spiffing children and a mansion in southern Ireland." When I don't look up, she mutters something about "rutting men and their stupid pride" before excusing herself rather curtly, shaking the glassware on the table as she moves.

The Pygmy Puff in the paper is less adorable the longer I stare at it. Tossing the paper carelessly down the table, I hear a younger student cry out in surprise when hot coffee spills onto her newly-pressed robes. Down at the other end of the table, David Stockherd rumbles loudly about the upcoming Quiddich match, while some bird behind me wails about her hair. I want to scream at the insignificance of it all.

As much as it pains me to admit- and believe me, it does- Lily has a point. I am a sodding failure of a Malfoy- not that Lily said that explicitly so much as she implied it. Taking an excessively long drink of my too-sugary tea, I push back the bench with a lame _squeak_.

While I make to leave, I'm suddenly rooted in place by a familiarly-disgusting laugh. I turn my chin to the source not ten meters from me.

By the basic laws of my family's bad-luck, Bobby Nelson _had _to be around just now, if only to make me sink further into self-depreciation. I'd be berating myself for being ridiculous if it were any other less-substantial bloke.

Fully aware of my lame slouch and unmotivated blank-stare, I lift one foot and then the other over the bench. I'm only just aware of my untied shoelace clacking against the floor as I saunter toward the exit. No one so much as glances at me while Bobby is around.

Perfect Bobby._ Bobby Nelson is planning something for your dearest Rose. _

Smashing Rose._ I've only watched you pine after Rose for ten months. _

Perfect Bobby with Smashing Rose. _Rose-bloody-Nelson with three spiffing children and a mansion in southern Ireland._

I barely have time to hate myself for letting Lily get in my head as something inside me snaps rather abruptly. All at once, I'm overcome with selfishness and a refusal to believe that the world has nothing for me.

I snatch a piece of paper from Suzanne Cornelli and ignore her bird-like screeches as I saunter away with it. My grandfather would be so proud of me for taking measly things from third-years. Probably not proud enough to overlook my adoration for a Weasley, however.

The paper has been charmed pink, but I amend it to red, which- of the customary Valentine's Day colors- I know Rose prefers. Hastily but with enough care to make a difference, I fold it in half. I scrawl on the inside the first thing that comes to mind and leave myself no room to question it.

Now to find Rose. I glance at my watch. There are ten minutes until class begins, and it's a Friday. As a self-proclaimed gentleman, I should feel intrusive- or at least somewhat ashamed of myself- for knowing Rose's entire schedule like the feel of my wand, but I can't deny that it's most helpful at present.

Left in front of right, I'm running before I have the good sense to bury my head in the sand and never come to the surface again.

"Rose!" I stumble into the History of Magic hallway feeling rather windblown and tuckered from dashing across the castle. Ahead of me, Rose stops and turns to my call, looking as perfect and terrifying as ever. As always, her features are set in perfect indifference. "Here." Shoving my creation toward her, I stuff my hands into my pockets to prevent myself from seeming like the nervous wreck I am.

I did little more than scrawl her name in capital letters across the front of the bespoke card, and she's opened it before I can change my mind.

Rose looks up then back at the paper, as though she doesn't understand. "My heart is ever at your service," she reads aloud, voice as smooth as chocolate. Chocolate! Bullocks, I knew I had forgotten something. "You read Shakespeare?"

The surprise in her dark eyes catches me off-guard. "Er- well- I mean- yeah," I finish lamely. "You told me once that Timon of Athens is your favorite, so I gave it a try. I can see why you like it. The idea that philanthropy is a means to vanity caught me by surprise, but-"

I am cut off brusquely by a sudden warmth on my upper jaw. Rose kissed me. With impeccable timing, too; I might have rambled until I forgot to breathe. Blinking back my bewilderment, I find myself unable to do little more than look at her like the sun shines from her arse.

"Right," Rose glances at her feet. "I should get to class," she gestures behind her where students are piling into the stuffy classroom.

"Right," I repeat, feeling reasonably light-headed, supremely happy, and irreversibly ridiculous all at once. "Er- I'll see you around then."

I can't help but steal a long glance at her as she walks away. Few things in life are better than watching the sway of a woman's skirt. But I recant that statement as she turns back to smile sheepishly at me, cheeks flushed ever so slightly. Even at a distance, I know it's real.

"By the way, your shoe is undone."

It's as real as it can get, alright. And thank Merlin, because I'm arse over elbow for her and more than alright with it.

Clear off, Bobby. Scorpius Malfoy has taken the biscuit.

* * *

**There ya have it! Happy early Valentine's Day to everyone- whether you are blissfully single or happily in-love, I wish you the best. Life is too short not to appreciate the people around you who love you.**

**Review. Follow. Favorite. Or all of the above.**

**Love to all!**

**Blessings,**

**Completely Done**


End file.
